Peter Stamm: In Strange Gardens and Other Stories

Graham had no desire to cross the island again.

“Just on account of a few chalk cliffs. There are chalk cliffs all over Europe. In England, in Brittany, in Ireland, all over.”

But Werner wouldn’t be deterred, and merely said: “Well, you don’t have to come if you don’t want.”

At midnight Werner went off to bed. Graham and I sat around for a long time after. We had had quite a bit to drink. Graham said his wife had moved out. She was now living with her English tutor.

“She didn’t get a work permit,” he said. “Then she wanted a baby, but that didn’t work. She was bored.”

I felt sorry for Graham. Then I suddenly realized that I disliked him. I said I was tired and was going to bed. He ordered two more beers, but I got up and went anyway.

Lotta seemed to be fast asleep when I walked into the room. Her breathing was loud and irregular. I got undressed, opened the window a crack, and lay down beside her. I listened to her breathing and to the roar of the sea, but I soon fell asleep, and only woke up when I heard someone banging on the door. I saw right away that Lotta wasn’t there, but I didn’t think anything of it. It was mid-morning. Graham was standing outside the door.

“Werner’s gone,” he said.

“Lotta is too,” I said. “Maybe they’re having breakfast.”

“No,” said Graham, “I’ve been downstairs and looked.”

We ate our own breakfast.

“Perhaps they went down to the sea,” I suggested, “or to look at the cliffs.”

“Well, one thing for sure, they haven’t taken their bicycles,” said Graham, “and it must be two hours on foot.”

We both felt irritated. When Werner and Lotta weren’t back by lunchtime, we took the bicycles and rode south. But there were two roads, and if Werner and Lotta were walking, there was no knowing which one they would have taken. A couple of hours later, we were back in the bed and breakfast.

“They’re going to get such a tongue-lashing when they get back,” said Graham.

The woman at the front desk wanted to see us. She said we needed to clear out our rooms. Our friends had left while we were gone. They had left a note. She passed me a piece of paper where Lotta had written we weren’t to worry, and should drive home without them. She and Werner would make their own way back.

“I sensed your Finn wasn’t too picky,” said Graham, “but taking off with Werner …”

“I can’t understand why they left,” I said. “We had nice times together.”

“Werner won,” said Graham. “Simple as that.”

He was grinning, but he couldn’t mask his fury.

“She’s her own person,” I said, “she’s free to go with anyone she likes.”

There was just enough time to pack our things before the next ferry departed for the mainland.

The crossing was cold and windy. By the time we got to the car the entire sky had clouded over, and shortly after we drove off it started raining. We barely talked. Graham was livid, and drove much too fast. He was going back to Switzerland, he said, he had had it with America. His wife would have to go back with him, like it or not. After all, she was still dependent on him for money.

Outside Bridgeport we stopped for gas, and I tried calling Werner and then Lotta. But Werner wasn’t there, and Lotta’s answering machine played only music, as though nothing had happened. After the signal I yelled out: “Lotta, are you there? Lotta!”

I imagined my voice echoing through the empty apartment, felt stupid, and hung up.

We drove through the Bronx to Queens, where Graham lived. I went up with him. His place was a mess, dirty plates in the kitchen. While Graham played back phone messages, I made coffee. There was an agitated voice on the tape, but I couldn’t hear much over the boiling water. When I walked into the sitting room, Graham was sitting slumped on the sofa, with the phone pressed to his ear. I poured the coffee. Graham said yes once or twice, and then thank you, and then he hung up.

“Werner’s killed himself,” he said. “He wrote a farewell note before we set out on Friday. That was his landlady I was talking to. She has a key to his place and was looking around it yesterday. It was because it was raining, she said, and she wanted to check that all the windows were closed.”

He told me the whole, utterly irrelevant story as if he was terrified of silence.

“The note was on the kitchen table. The woman is Hungarian, she knows a bit of German, and she understood the gist of it. But she didn’t know where we were going. She found my number next to the phone. She called a couple of other people as well.”

“But Lotta,” I said, “surely she didn’t … After all, she wrote that we weren’t to worry about her. They were going to make their own way home …”

Graham shrugged his shoulders.

“Do you think he wanted to … do you think he jumped off the cliff?” I asked. “I don’t think he’s capable of that. He’s not a romantic.”

“Well, I’m sure he didn’t have a gun,” said Graham.

“What are we going to do?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said. “It’s too early to go to the police.”

He wanted to give me a ride into the city, but I said he ought to stay by the phone. I didn’t feel like talking, I wanted to be alone. The two cups of coffee sat on the table, untouched.

The subway station was almost deserted. I had to wait fifteen minutes for a train. As we approached Manhattan, it gradually filled up. I got out one station before my usual stop, and walked the last few blocks. It wasn’t raining any more, but the streets were still wet. I bought a beer and a sandwich at a convenience store.

As I opened the front door of the apartment, I could hear Lotta’s voice. The answering machine was on, and was recording. At first I wanted to pick up the receiver and speak to her, but then I didn’t and just listened. “The furniture all belongs to Joseph. And Romeo … Robert, please will you look after Romeo. He’s so little. Promise me you won’t let anything happen to him. You can stay in the apartment too. You’ll just have to sort it out with Joseph. Tell him you’ve paid the agency fees.” There was silence for a moment.

“I think that’s everything. Be well, and don’t be mad at us. Bye Graham, bye Robert.”

She whispered: “Do you want to say anything else?”

I heard Werner clearly say no. Then there was a click, and the connection was broken. I pictured Lotta turning to face Werner, in some bus stop or restaurant, and he smiling, and the two of them going off together and disappearing. I thought I’d missed my last chance to speak to her, or at least to say goodbye.

I rewound the tape and listened to it from the beginning.

“You have … TWO messages,” said the synthetic voice. Then I heard my voice: “Lotta, are you there? Lotta!” I sounded nervous and angry, worried. There were a couple of clicks, and then Lotta spoke: “Hello, is anyone home? Hello, Robert, hello!” She sighed, and then she said: “Ah well, then you’re still on your way back. Doesn’t matter. I’m calling from a restaurant. We’re in … where are we?”

I could hear them whispering.

“We’re near Philadelphia. I’m with Werner. We’re traveling together. Originally, Werner was going to … well, he left a note in his apartment. But he’s changed his mind. We’re going traveling together. He’s fixed everything. You’ll understand when you see the note. I don’t have much that needs taking care of. Robert? If you get this, will you call Joseph. He knows about everything. You’ll find his number on the list next to the phone. I came back to the apartment quickly to pick up a few things. I don’t need any more. The furniture belongs to Joseph …”